If it were possible for trees to speak, then this would be their song. Not just oak trees, or willow, but every tree. From the far eastern shores of the world to the west. Shore and mountain. From seed to mighty giant they would sing. And their words would be whispered everywhere. Lilly was not a tree lover. Ha, no! But she understood them. She liked to watch them. She liked to sit beneath them at night and stare up into their silhouetted branches. Because there was something in them that she could see reflected in her. At twilight she would walk to the woods and sit on the soft blanket of pine needles and leaves and she would watch them. Sometimes she sat with her eyes closed and just listened to them, the wind piping through their branches and the holes in their trunks. And she would sing. Lilly would sing the tree song.